Your Sweet Voice
by unfixed
Summary: What if America successfully invaded Canada in 1812? AU, magic and stuff. Possessive,slightly psychotic!America/Canada. Sorry, I'm horrible at summaries...
1. Introduction

**Author:** Hello there! I am new, have read countless fanfictions but have never really.. written any. Haha; Therefore my english grammar is not the best..ahem.. at all. I just needed to get this idea out of my head.

Its going to be AU, the whole "What if", and I chose _What if America successfully invaded Canada in 1812? _I also have some plotbunnies involving magic and stuff, so please bear with me!

That's all I have to say. Enjoy~

I_ do not own Hetalia at all. AT AAAAALL. _

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**Your Sweet Voice - Introduction-**

He was slowly dragging him away from the battlefield, from the burning building, the burning city. Honestly, it should not be this troublesome, considering their relationship. Brothers are supposed to stick together, right? Through thick and thin. So, why was he being so _difficult_? Why was he thrashing about when Alfred was dragging him away to safety? You'd think he would _want _to leave the British Empire, to abandon England, considering … all he's been through already.

Taken from Francis when he was still so young, ignored by Arthur in favour of the 'golden child', Alfred. Yet it was Alfred who wanted him, the '_other me'_ as he would call him, he wanted him all to himself like a spoiled child. Why not? Having a mirror image of yourself to be your brother is what every child dreams of, is it not? Who was Arthur to stop an oncoming tantrum of epic proportions?

He had heard some of Francis's people could not handle the harsh climate of this new colony, that it was nothing but a wasteland of snow. Arthur seemed to have had a bit of pity for the child… Until he brought him home. Alfred danced around him, looked at him, poked him like a new toy; the newcomer to the house just hid behind his bear, too shy, trying to speak but voice too soft to hear. Arthur soon let the boy be, to tend to his other colony, his '_favourite_'. The young child Matthew didn't seem to mind, he never said anything, and that was the problem. _He never said anything_. Arthur wondered if he actually had a voice. After a few months, he could only assume Matthew was doing fine because of the little trouble he was, when in fact, Matthew simply bottled everything up, hiding everything behind a mask. He did not want to be abandoned again, and so he put up a happy smile to keep Arthur happy.

So why, Alfred pondered, why didn't Matthew agree with him when he wanted to become independent? Surely he would be happier; Alfred showered him with promises of true freedom, liberty… '_Just like back then_,' he would say. Matthew would no longer be ignored, but be loved by his twin brother everyday. They would go on adventures all the time, none of these annoying grown-up problems that Arthur was forcing on them.

In all this, Matthew seemed calm, reserved at first when he was presented with this new proposition. Alfred never liked this reaction; it always meant he was thinking, very thoroughly. His frown only deepened when Matthew started to narrow his eyebrows, to shake his head from side to side.

"_I'm sorry. I'm so sorry!_" he whispered, with glassy eyes.

Alfred was furious. After all they've been through, Matthew was going to hide, hide behind Arthur to stay safe! He could not believe this act of cowardice, not knowing who to blame: Matthew or Arthur.

After he had won his independence, he had come to the conclusion that the fault for Matthew's decision was Arthur's. He concluded that Matthew's views were distorted, clouded by Arthur; much like his own views on the world until the taxes, the problems…until his people started to revolt.

That's when it hit him. Matthew was too afraid to disobey. Too afraid to speak up. When Alfred had secretly met up with Francis all those times during his revolution, he always wanted to know how Matthew was, how he acted around Arthur, around other people and around Alfred. After explaining and describing the current events every time, Francis always gave the same bothered look. "That is not like him..." Francis would say. And every time Alfred would press the matter, Francis would shake his head nonchalantly, casting his memories of Matthew off as "things of the past!" and encouraged Alfred to focus on the present, the matters at hand.

Alfred would not dismiss his thoughts. He tried to think about Matthew's position in all this; all he thought was _"Matthew wants freedom; he needs freedom, but doesn't want to acknowledge that he does. He is too afraid." _The only way for him to realize this is for Alfred to_ make_ him see. He'll play the hero to the poor damsel in distress. This made him grin widely.

It was simple enough, really. Invade Quebec, invade Canada. Arthur was nowhere to be found, so Matthew would be easy pickings, right? … Little did he know that Old Man Winter also liked Matthew. He didn't count on the weather being so cold, his men were dying, freezing to death, and so he left, to plan and fight again, this time, with a bigger impact.

Then came 1812.

He was there to bring Matthew home with him. He couldn't wipe off the happy grin on his face; _Almost there, Mattie. Almost there._ He was surprised to see a few soldiers in redcoats to greet his own; he was even more surprised when he saw Matthew among them, a look of fury on his face. Alfred tried to explain, but Matthew did not want to hear it. He just couldn't understand why Matthew was staying by Arthur's side still. It started to infuriate him. An argument broke out between the two: Matthew lashing out, yelling so hard at Alfred, it was as if all of his frustrations and woes from the past burst out of the bottle he was keeping them in for so long. Alfred could only watch in awe. Every time Matthew mentioned Arthur, it was like a sharp pinprick to his neck, to his chest, to his heart. Was he becoming jealous? Or perhaps anger: angry that Matthew wanted to stay with Arthur and not with him, his brother, his own twin.

Unable to stand it anymore, he pounced towards Matthew to finally silence him, tackling him to the ground. He instructed his own soldiers to go in and burn the capital. Burn it to the ground. Matthew tried desperately to wriggle free, but with no luck.

"I thought I could reason with you" Alfred said, "but it seems I have to force you to see." He smirked as he saw the building in front of them become engulfed in flames. He smiled triumphantly, congratulating himself on a proper invasion, thinking in a few months time how wonderful it will be to have his brother by his side, smiling the same as his.

He took a glance down at Matthew and saw that he was no longer struggling, but writhing in pain. His capital, everything that he—that _Arthur _stood for… burning to the ground, flames lighting up the night sky, soldiers fighting. Alfred's smile disappearing to a hardened expression, he leaned down to Matthew, trying his best to comfort his aching brother, shushing him saying _"everything is for the best_" as he stroked his brother's hair.

Finding enough strength, Matthew slapped Alfred's hand away from him, scrambling to get far away from his manic brother. Finally, he stared into Alfred, eyes' blazing with hate, yelling a string of _"How could you"_s and _"Why"_s followed by spitting Alfred's name in vain. Which lead Alfred to slowly get up, hold and lasso his twin's hands together, pulling the end of the rope in his hand as he rode back home on his horse; his brother was dragged through the mud, ash and dirt of his land.

Alfred shook his head and he heard Matthew's cries of pain and anger as he was being dragged. He had to teach him, had to make him see…

..

..

...

_..... Brothers were supposed to stick together… right? _

_

* * *

_

**Author's Notes:** So um.. YEAH. This idea has been bubbling around in my brain. Wonder how far I can take it ...

Like I said, I haven't done any creative writing since junior high school, so forgive me and my horrible english grammar mistakes!


	2. Chapter 1

A/N: HEY HO the usual I am not worthyyyy I don't own Hetaliaaaaa some japanese guy does, etcetcetc; I'm still only skimming the surface of this story for the moment! BE PATIENT AND STUFF. ENJOY~

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**_Your Sweet Voice  
_**

**Chapter 1**

...

Only when they had reached the border did Alfred untie his brother. Matthew was coughing, panting, wincing, and doing everything in his power to show some strength. His red coat had taken most of the damage from the rocks, looking more like a tattered shawl than a red military uniform. He wanted to pounce on Alfred, to knock him down and escape, make him pay for what he has done, but he found he had no strength left in him now that his capital was gone, American soldiers invading and raiding. He felt very much like a ragdoll, drug through the dirt, scratches and cuts all over his arms and legs, but that didn't matter he thought; he was still alive, still breathing, _still there_.

When Alfred untied the rope from Matthew's wrists, he looked down at him, examining the damage. Bruises forming around his wrists, pants ripped with ugly looking cuts and scratches, boots destroyed, and hair a tangled mess. Matthew's entire body was caked in mud, dust and ash. Matthew thought he saw a strange look flicker in his brother's eyes…a look of triumph of course, but with something else as he looked into his twin's gaze. Anger? Annoyance?

....

_Want…?_

Alfred stared at his twin for what seemed like hours until finally he chuckled. _Chuckled._ Matthew tried to ask what was so damn funny, but Alfred answered for him:

"You really are clueless, aren't you?" When there was no response, he continued,

"You're wound so tightly around Arthur's little finger that you refuse to see what is really happening! Mattie.." He picked him up from the ground, a cry of pain emitted from Matthew's mouth. "My dear _brother._ You don't have to worry anymore," he said as a loving smile formed, "I'll take you out of your cage, you'll taste real freedom, like me! It feels wonderful, Mattie. You'll see…" He flashed the younger twin a genuine smile, that full of promise… Matthew almost believed him… if he wasn't in so much pain. Lolling his head from side to side as confusion and exhaustion took over his body and mind; he could only blink sluggishly in response.

What was Alfred's strategy? He wondered. Though he didn't show it, Alfred did have quite a talent at convincing people; he was able to look into the problem and make you feel as if all your troubles are quite small and meaningless. It was fantastic; he really knew how to convince you about the wonders of your life and what it has in store for everyone. It could be positively intoxicating if one wasn't too careful.

Throughout his confused thoughts, he saw Alfred's mouth move with a reassuring smile, but Matthew was only able to hear the few words,

"_England… British… United…. Together…. __**Mine**__."_ before slipping into the sweet and calming embrace of darkness.

-------

Alfred looked at his brother as he went limp in his arms, looking at his new…. prisoner? _For now I suppose..._ an excited glee spreading across his face. He knows Matthew will be fine; he has had a rough day after all. Climbing back onto his horse, he placed his unconscious brother in front of him so that he can hold him, _protect him_, as he rode towards his own capital.

As he rode his way to his commander and president, he was daydreaming of what was to come for the North American brothers. His thoughts wandered to the rumour and prophecy of Manifest Destiny: he truly believed in this Destiny, the unification of the continent. If they were together once before, they will (no, they _**should**_) be together once again.

Once he had told his brother about this prophecy. Matthew, who was under the fearful eye of the British Empire, could not show his excitement as much as Alfred wanted him to. He just grew wide-eyed and shook his head, telling him to stop eating suspicious looking wild berries.

_  
But it was all front, _Alfred told himself. _He really was shaking with excitement!_ _He could barely contain his joy! _He was sad when Matthew turned away from him, denying everything about Manifest Destiny, about being together, about _**being one**_ again.

But… that didn't matter now. He was here, with him. Alfred could not stop grinning.

....

.......

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**A/N: Sorry for the short chapter, but as I writing the next paragraph, I felt it was more appropriate for chapter 2 than for chapter 1. BUT HEY SETTING UP THE SCENE WITH BACKGROUND INFO IS CALLED CHARACTER DEVELOPMENT, RIGHT?! D: **

Will update as soon as I can organise this brain vomit that is my mind.


	3. Chapter 2

A/N: Still don't owe Hetalia. Ho hum.

* * *

_**Your Sweet Voice **_

**Chapter 2**

...

Arthur had warned Matthew about Alfred. He remembered Arthur warning him about the boy being too young to handle the power of a country on his own, that he is easily corruptible and for god sakes to watch your own back.

Matthew would shrug at the Englishman, almost laughing it off, saying "Al will be too busy celebrating than to go after me. He hasn't even noticed me ever since the Revolution." _He's my brother... _he would tell himself. _He would never do anything to hurt me… right? _

Matthew had perhaps a thought or two about joining his brother into becoming his own country, to be away from Arthur, but he would continuously brush the thoughts away, almost fearfully. This sudden change might be too much for him to handle, not sure how Arthur would take it either.

Ever since he was abandoned by Francis, he could not become emotionally attached to Arthur, not just because the man himself was a fond believer in never showing your emotions, but also because he blamed himself for Francis leaving, believing that he wasn't worthy of the man's attention and love; and so could not openly love Arthur like he did Francis. However, as he got older, with Arthur's help, he realized it might have been because he was too sentimental; he wore his emotions on his sleeves. And so, with Arthur's advice and teachings, he was able to 'bottle it up', hide it away and never show how he truly felt.

As the days turned into months, Matthew found he was admiring Arthur more because of that. He wanted to be like Arthur, but could never truly love him like he did Francis. He will always miss the simple days when it was just him and his guardian in the simple, yet picturesque landscapes of his lands. Nothing complicated, nothing unpleasant or sorrowful.

Yet, here he was, a year later after the burning of his capital, in Alfred's house, the whole time feeling like a pampered prisoner. Sure, it was a big house with a spacious garden (gated of course) but Matthew still considered it a prison. Alfred insisted Matt had everything under that house, "_Everything but freedom." _Matt thought bitterly.

A year earlier, when he was brought to Commander Madison by a cheerful Alfred, the man simply looked in annoyance at the poor excuse of a country that was currently on his knees, hands bound, trembling from shock, pain, but most of all, anger. Madison only gave him a few seconds of his attention before turning his back on the twins, waving his hand, mumbling "Jones can take care of that" as he turned back to his map, continuing his war planning. Matthew had wondered if Madison even knew who he was before his brother helped him up back on his feet, walking him down the hallway where Alfred was particular bouncing with joy. It was then Matthew started to question his brother's own sanity at the time. He looked like a happy child at Christmas who just received a new puppy to play with.

"This is great, Mattie! You'll be stay with me!" he had said, with his honest smile. "I have this fantastic house with a huge library and garden; you like reading books, don't you Mattie?" he laughed, patting his brother's back, disregarding his own twin's protest.

Matthew had stopped in his tracks, Alfred a few inches in front of him, staring at him intently.

"What's wrong, Mattie?"

"Don't you think this is wrong!?" he hissed angrily. "I'm not your pet, Alfred! I'm still a British colony! Still a 'redcoat" –who is currently your** PRISONER**. Don't you dare talk like you've won this war already, don't talk like I'm simply coming over for a cup of tea to chat about the weather! You've won the battle, America, but you haven't won the war." Matthew eyes glared, voice laced with anger. "_…...I'm not yours_."

Alfred winced a little, looking hurt before turning his face away. After a small pause, his shoulders were shaking in what Matthew thought were sobs at first, but soon found out it was laughter. A strange laughter at that, sending shivers down his spine.

He could have sworn he heard Alfred mutter "_…..yet_" but pushed it out of his mind when he saw his brother turn around, giving him a reassuring grin.

"What are you talking about, Mattie? You don't need to worry about silly things like that right now. You look positively dreadful ~ as England would say. I'm just offering my place because I have the proper tools to tend to your wounds… At least let me help you with that. I would hate to see you get hurt more than you are now!" he exclaimed as he flung his arm around Matthew.

"Come on, I'll show you the place." Matthew tensed as he felt his brother's hand land on the small of his back, guiding him forward with little force.

Something just seemed extremely unsettling to Matthew, but he had never been in a real war like this before… He shrugged the feeling away, dismissing it away because of his inexperience in war.

---

Alfred was true to his word; he did tend to his brother's wounds, but with an air of carelessness, as if they just had a rough wrestling match that didn't really matter. The first few days, Matthew refused to take off his uniform, or to be washed, even refused food. Alfred just stared at him sadly as he came into his (rather comfortable) room every day, offering his food, or change of clothing. He tried to calm his brother down by telling him the "everything will be fine" and "it's for the best" speeches, but Matthew didn't want to hear any of it.

As soon as Matthew regained his strength, the string of 'escape plans' have started, and Alfred couldn't help but laugh at his twin. He was quite creative when it came to escaping! Of course he used the typical 'sheets as a rope' and the 'distract the dogs with meat' tricks, some were very imaginative though.

But he was caught every time. Alfred made sure of it. And every time he tried to escape, he would get a 'comforting' lecture from Alfred, attempting to make his brother see that what he's doing is foolish, just downright silly and childish; that they will both look back on this one day and laugh. Matthew always seemed unconvinced, but Alfred knew that in time, he will rid Matthew of Arthur's blindfold that is so tightly wrapped around his delicate eyes, and he will be so grateful that his cunning brother did what he had to do. He was patient after all. And Matthew was smart, he'll eventually see, and Alfred will be there on that day with open arms, ready to accept his twin as they become one again.

A few months after Matthew's 'capture', (Alfred persisted it was a heavily** _insisted_** invitation, but had to comply with the rules of war) Alfred decided to put bars on his brother's bedroom windows. It was getting tiresome to have to catch him wandering about every other night in the gardens near the fence and to bind him when he thrashed around too much.

However, he was convinced that Matthew was slowly starting to see things his way; he stopped trying to escape at least. Alfred was patient after all; he was giving his brother time to cool down, finally changing him out of his torn up uniform and into fresh clothing, finally disposing his deteriorated shawl of a redcoat. He also started eating again, which was another good sign in Alfred's eyes. It made him smile warmly to see his brother nibbling the food he slaved over making.

But Matthew was still an emotionless twit thanks to Arthur; Alfred was baffled at how much his brother had changed. Really, it was amazing what effects Arthur had on him! Matthew of course was prone to his daily lash outs, his little arguments of "I'm not yours", "You don't own me", "I'm not your brother" and all that, it did hurt the first few times, but when repeated after so many times, they seemed to have lost their value, according to Alfred. He remembered how he started asking Matthew if these arguments were directed at him or rather reassurances for himself?

Matthew of course, gave the same heated reply, but after saying the same arguments and replies every other day, Matthew seemed to be slowing down, calming almost. His tone of voice was gradually sounding unsure of itself, worried and questioning_. _

_Not losing his hope_, thought Alfred, _Merely reconsidering his position and starting to look at the world differently, under a brighter sky._ _With me. _Alfred mused as he sat on his porch, overlooking the spectacular summer evening… wishing his brother would sit there to enjoy it with him.

......

........

After a year of tension and arguments in his house, soldiers from British (_for now_, Alfred kept reminding himself) North America were captured in Washington and sentenced to death by hanging for the attempts of burning down the Capitol and White House buildings of the United States.

Alfred decided then and there that drastic measures were to be taken.

* * *

**A/N: **

**Burning of York –April 1813**

**Burning of Washington-August 1814 So says Wikipedia!**

**Yeah, as you can tell, I'm not a history student haha; although I am a Psychology Major ;)**

**The DUNDUNDUN magical woooo stuff will begin next chapter~**


	4. Chapter 3

**_A/N: My god I'm sorry for the delay. Thats what happens with life I guess. _**

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_**Your Sweet Voice**_

**Chapter 3**

...

The morning started out was cloudy, their world colored in greys and deep forest greens that day.

Birds were still chirping, happy chatter amongst the townspeople still filled the market place. Little did these happy people know of the execution that was about to happy over at the prison far from the local merchants.

Two very particular sets of eyes were on the convicted men as the rope was slid gently around their necks. The blue pair implied mild hate but understanding and after a moment, seemed determined as they traveled next to the one standing next to him; the violet eyes however, were filled with a great sadness and grief, as if he was losing more than these men's lives standing before the crowd. The violet eyes immediately looked down when their owner tensed; the almost identical man standing next to him stroking his arm in a form of reassurance.

"I would like you to watch this, Mattie. It's for your own good…" Alfred said sadly, as a mother would to a child who had to take nasty medicine. His brother didn't say anything, and kept his head down.

"...Come on, Matt.." he said as he slowly lifted up his chin, allowing Matthew to see.

As the officer read their crimes and conviction, the executioner's hands clenched tightly around the wooden lever, one of the men yelled "RULE BRITANNIA" as the gallows dropped.

The men's bodies twitched and jerked about as their last breaths of life left, Matthew's eyes widened, drinking in the scene before him. He muttered under his breath "Rule Britannia.." before shoving Alfred away with all his might and breaking into a run.

He ran through the town, he ran through the trees, he just wanted to get away from there, wanted to go home and hope that everything will go back to the way it was. It was wishful thinking, but it was the only thing that fuelled him to run further away from his brother. After he had reached a forest full of thick pine trees, he slowed into a fast walk; it didn't 'feel' like home yet, so he continued traveling north. He managed to find a hollow tree to sleep and hide in, covering the entrance with branches and leaves so it looked inconspicuous, waiting for the veil of night to aid him in his escape.

The whole time he watched the sunset, he continuously looked at his hands, afraid they would start to turn transparent. He started to wonder, How do Nations die? England has told him the story of the great Roman Empire, how he disappeared without a trace after Rome had fallen...

Would the same thing happen to him?

* * *

Alfred fell into the crowd and onto the ground, watching his brother disappear in the sea of people. Why! Why is he doing this? Why would he run away from the one person who can comfort him in his time of need?

He knew where his brother would be heading; he dispatched two soldiers that were disposing the corpses to go after Matthew. He would go with them of course, only _he_ knew where his brother would go. But all of Matthew's actions were starting to annoy him. He was patient, but Matthew was starting to cut it very short now.

As he treaded further into the woods, he could see footprints in the muddy earth. His soldiers noticed too as they too began to search the area, muskets at hand, looking over every tree, every bush, every dead pile of leaves.

After a few hours, the clouds got thicker, and it started to rain. Thunder could be heard in the distance. Alfred cursed under his breath, not wanting to leave Matt outside in this weather, fearing he might catch his death. He continued to search frantically for him...only thinking of the best for him, he just wants him safe. Really.

Why would Matt think that his own brother would harm him so when he was offering such a comfortable life? It baffled him, but Alfred reassured himself,

"He'll tell me soon enough.. He's just taking it hard, hard to accept new things. Poor Mattie..."

The longer he looked, the more he thought about it. Was this really Matt's own behavior? Or was it those of his people..? Naturally people in the now new Northern States would be a bit upset...but they would get used to it soon enough; they will realize they enjoy their newfound freedom! Everyone will be happy, his brother will be happy.

He found Matthew later, lying unconscious in a hollow tree surrounded by branches and leaves. If one were to scan the area, you would not see a body hiding. That is the miracle (or curse) that Matthew seemed to possess, for the guards Alfred ordered to search missed him several times.

Only Alfred was able to find him.

He would always find him.

They were after all.. _one nation._

Once Matthew was home and secure in his bed, Alfred had come to a conclusion: Pacify the people, pacify his brother. Exactly_ how_ to do it, he was not too certain. While his brother slept, he was skimming through several books until he found one... an old spell book left by Arthur years ago.

...Alfred smiled.


	5. Chapter 4

A/N: HEEY. Long time no see. Been at school and stuff, so I finally came around to writing this! Woo. I was going to make it happen later, but I just had a huge compulsion to write it, so here's the scene thats been stuck in my head for awhile

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_**Your Sweet Voice**_

**Chapter 4  
**

**...**

**...**

**...  
**

His dreams where filled with swirling colors. Each more vibrant than the last, flowing over one another like cream in coffee. Several difference voices where resonating in his head i"I'm hungry""I'm cold" "what kind of laws are these" "I can't afford to put bread on the table" "what will I do now" "Damn the Rebels" "Damn the Loyalists" "keep our heritage" "Manifest Destiny?" "I rather like this freedom, no monarchy" "this is going nowhere" "it will disappear..." "its alright son, _**everything will be for the best.."**_

The last phrase echoed in his mind as his eyes slowly began to open, his mind trying to piece together his rationality and sense to what has currently happened. He peered around the room, wasn't he supposed to be outside...? Was the execution of those two men a dream as well?

Looking blankly around, he spotted his brother who was entering the room with a tray of food and drink.

"Ah, you're finally awake! I was beginning to worry." Alfred exclaimed, flashing him that smile he knows all too well. Alfred set the tray down on a nearby table, pulling up a comfortable chair to sit next to his brother.

For awhile, they both just stared at each other, Matthew's eyes searching into Alfred's, trying to find a shred of SOMETHING, of truth, of insanity, of rationality, _why are you acting this way with me._

Alfred's smile slowly dipped downward to a neutral, albeit sheepish thin line. Clearing his throat, he turned his back to tend to the tray; to pour both of them some coffee.

"So, uh... I hope you enjoyed your stroll in the woods the other day..." He said casually as he handed his bother a cup of coffee. Matthew continued to stare, eyes widening slightly as his mind confirms _dear god it wasn't a dream..._

After a strained pause, Alfred was pushing the cup towards him, placing it in his brother's hands.

" Come on.. drink up! ...I'm not mad, don't think that at all, Matt! I'm just... just worried for you, that's all..." taking a sip of his own cup, Alfred watched Matthew, waiting.

Matthew on the other hand, scoffed a little before turning his head away from his brother, playing with the cup's handle. "YOU'RE worried for me? That's a surprise. I'm surprised I haven't disappeared right now." He muttered under his breath, Alfred of course catching every word. Alfred laughed a hearty laugh. After calming down, he placed a hand over his brother, subtlety pushing the cup a little upwards.

"Really Matt, is that all that you're worried about? You won't disappear, you won't die, you won't go like Rome did! Don't be silly, you're here with me, you're safe here, Mattie!"

Matthew retorted, "I'm NOT safe here, America. I don't want to feel like a pampered prisoner. I don't want- "

"...what do you want, Matt?" Alfred successfully cutting him off, searching deep into his eyes, tone completely serious.

"I... I-I want... ..." he didn't know. What can he do? No longer a colony, now a whole new country. Shouldn't it feel different? Shouldn't he feel a closer bond with Alfred? Instead, he felt nothing new. He felt the same as ever... perhaps heavier, feeling invisible chains weighing him down. What could he do. He couldn't go to England, he's no longer a British colony. He knew for a long time he couldn't go to France for any help after he became England's. Now he was America's. He never felt his own. His independence. But here he was, part of a new independent nation. Why did he feel more trapped than ever?

At that moment, a hand sliding against across his cheek snapped him out of his thoughts and focusing on Alfred, acting so much like England when one of them was sick, like a mother hen.

"My poor dear brother." Alfred sighed, placed his hand on his brother's forehead, then back down to Matthew's hand, still holding the cup. ".. you really don't know what you want, do you...? I was wondering..." he made himself more comfortable, he was guiding Matthew's hand up to his mouth, signalling to drink it. Matthew, too deep into his own thoughts, took a sip of the warm liquid, relaxing slightly as the warmth enveloped his throat and stomach. "Perhaps.. it might not be because _you're _so confused, but that of.. well, that of_ your people_ being confused. They still have a voice." Alfred continued, voice dropping, eyeing Matthew as he drank more coffee. "...a very strong **rebellious** voice if you ask me. Much like yours, obviously." Alfred's eyes narrow as he drains his own cup.

Meanwhile, alarm bells were going off in Matthew's head. His brother's tone of voice had changed, he was talking suspiciously about his people, their voice, his voice. He didn't like where this conversation was heading.

"America, I'm allowed to have my own voice, aren't I?" Matthew snapped at him. "I thought I was to get some equality in this, not just be a colony to yet another nation."

Just then, Alfred moved so fast, it startled Matthew. He was so close to his face, their noses almost touching. Matthew was slowly sinking into his pillows, Alfred's grin almost wolfish, his face darken. "You DO have equality, honey. You're just too damn stupid and stubborn to see it. Aren't you happier here than with England? Seems like most Northern states aren't too happy. Frankly, its annoying after all we've been through. Naturally, since you're siding with them, I'm implementing my own 'freedom rights' to our lovely Northern states. And.." he paused, brushing his nose with his brother's in a mock Eskimo kiss, Matthew's head reeling. "...a small contribution from you will make this situation much better." At that, Matthew felt extremely heavy and dazed, the world around him flickering in and out of existence, the last thing he saw was his brother's dark grin before succumbing to darkness.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

He woke up in a daze, head pounding with a headache, dark shapes blurred around him. He noticed his hands and legs were bound together, his waist tied with rope around a wooden chair. The faint smell of lavender, thyme and chloroform reached his nose. He blinked lazily as he tried to see where he was. It was a dark room to say the least, a few small flickering candles littered the floor around him. As he observed the floor, he saw a few small chalked markings on the stone floor. Ahead, he saw Alfred with his back turned to him, muttering into a huge tome. Slowly and sluggish, he tried to wiggle himself out of his chair, making the smallest of noises. He almost had his hand free when the chair scrapped across the floor. Matthew looked up, horrified. Alfred turned slowly towards the noise, smiling warmly at his brother.

"So you're awake... again!" Chuckling, he walked up to Matthew, giving his shoulder a pat. "Sorry for all the ropes, but I need you to be very still, like hide and seek! Remember?" snickering to himself, he turned to look over the book, and picking up a few bottles of different substances, Matthew inwardly panicked.

He swallowed deeply. "America, w-what is all that for."

"Come on, Mattie. I really wish you would say my name, like old times. I mean, technically, you're America too, aren't you?" grinning, he laughed again. "Man, I didn't realize how complicated this potion stuff is. You'd think it'd be a snap, huh? England sure made it look easy enough.." He continued to mutter to himself, browsing over the leftover ingredients.

Matthew laughed bitterly. "And here I thought you didn't believe in magic, America."

Alfred brightened, at least he was responding to him. "Ha! Of course I don't. I just think this will help us with our situation."

"...and what situation might that be." Matthew replied, voice low.

Alfred only smirked, grabbing the violet bottle, walking calmly towards his brother. "You know perfectly well what it is, brother."

Matthew's eyes were wide, now completely aware of what was happening, dear god he was going to die, wasn't he? He struggled in his chair, but to no avail. Alfred was already staring down at him, an almost childish grin to his features. Alfred's hand was on his brother's shoulder, the other holding the violet bottle. "You're contribution to this cause will make all the difference, Mattie. ... I promise." He said, eyes half-lidded, grinning from ear to ear. He stuck two fingers in Matthew's mouth, keeping it open, as he poured the liquid down a thrashing Matthew. He began to spit it up, but Alfred kept his hand clamped against Matthew's mouth, the other hand massaging his brother's throat to coax the liquid down.

Alfred in the meantime was shushing him gently, muttering a few strange words, and finally everything came to a halt. Matthew stopped struggling, head bowed, motionless. Alfred slowly untied the ropes, still keeping an eye on his brother._ god I hope I didn't forget anything... _he thought to himself. A few long silent minutes later, Alfred took a chance by lifting his brother's chin up.

"Mattie...? ... You still with me?" At this, Matthew's head snapped up, glaring with the utmost hatred in his eyes. He launched him forward, toppling Alfred to the ground, hands around his neck. Alfred was in pure shock, not expecting these results at all. Quickly, he tried to remember what had to be done, he did everything right.

He winced as his head pounds the floor repeatedly, just then he then noticed that Matthew was yelling at him in a string of broken sentences, some sounding like old men, some sounding like young widows and mothers who lost their loved ones. Other sentences had an accent to them, yelling at him in British, Scottish English, Quebecois French, Aboriginal, Iroquois, Cree, and some sentences sounded like it came from crying children, a few tears falling on Alfred's cheek. Anything and everything.

It was them, wasn't it? The voices of his people all coming out at once, through Matthew.

Before Alfred could lose consciousness, he remember the last thing to do, to seal the voices.

Alfred grabbed his distressed brother's arm, pulled him down, and sealed his mouth with his own. There was silence, but then a huge gust of wind and brilliant light surrounded the room, blinding his eyesight. Suddenly, he felt something slid on his tongue, through his mouth and down his throat. His grip on Matthew never slacked, but he felt his brother tense and grappled Alfred's arms.

They finally broke apart, wind and light all but gone, the candle light snuffed out. Matthew stared at Alfred with the utmost horror, utterly frightened at what just happened. Suddenly he began to cough violently, eyes drooping, trying to stand up but loses his balance.

Dumbfounded, Alfred looked up at Matthew, and after feeling a slight warm tickle in his throat, he got up to assist his brother.

They both gawked at each other in awe as Alfred held Matthew. **_what the hell just happened... _**

...

...

...

..

* * *

WOO. thats that for now~ We'll see what happens next~


	6. Chapter 5

A/N: WOO This writing stuff is getting a bit easier to do wth more and more practice, huh?

* * *

**Your Sweet Voice**

** Chapter 5  
**

...

...

...

_What the hell just happened..._

Alfred was looking down at his brother, Matthew was looking up at his brother; both staring at each other, expressions confused and searching for what seemed like hours.

Alfred was the first to speak, or at least try. He pulled away when he started to cough deeply for a few moments, Matthew still dumbstruck, attempting to wrap his mind around what just happened to him, could only watch his brother with wide eyes.

A small tingling was felt in Alfred's throat. He took a moment to clear and massage his throat before he could speak again. He turned to his brother; a small sheepish smile graced his lips.

"Well ... that was ... something, huh Mattie?"

Matthew's staring soon twisted into a glare. He couldn't believe his brother sometimes. He's just shrugging this situation off like its nothing! They both could have died!

He opened his mouth to accuse his brother, but found that no sound came out. Confused, he cleared his throat like Alfred had done, but found that nothing, no sound at all came out of his mouth. His voicebox wasn't working.

He bowed his head low, grasping his own throat, lost in his own thinking..._have I really lost my voice? Is that was this is about?_ He suddenly snapped his head up to Alfred, searching his face for any answer.

Alfred watched in confusion. Shaking his head, he consulted the tome and its contents. This ... procedure was supposed to get rid of the voice of Mattie's people in his head! The ones contaminating his own proper thoughts! Thinking about it, he felt another small tingle in his throat. Had it failed? Or did it work too well..? Did he...did he accidently take his brother's voice as well...?

A sudden thought struck Alfred, but he dismissed it. _It couldn't be that the voice of his people and his own voice were so connected, one would perish along with the other..._

It couldn't be. Alfred thinks of himself as an example. Yes, he hears voices of the people of his land, but he also hears his own voice. His own INDEPENDENT voice.

Another thought struck him, he strode to Matthew who was still sitting on the stone cold ground.

"Mattie, could you answer something for me? Think hard about it. Do you hear any other voices in your head other than your own?" God, he sounded like he was a doctor tending to a crazed mental patient.

Matthew, who had been eyeing his brother suspiciously, took a moment to close his eyes and wonder. He knew what Alfred had meant, the voices of the people associated with his land. He quieted his thoughts and searched in his mind for any indication of a voice.

...

...

...

... he was only met with silence.

No faint whispers. Complete silence.

He couldn't feel the pull to his land, he couldn't imagine the trees, the birds, the cold serene winter, the smell of leaves in the fall, the budding leaves and flowers of the spring nor the heat of the summer sun.

...

He internally searched for anything,anyone he could connect to. A newlywed couples' happiness? Children playing in a lake, trying to catch fish? An elderly man making snowshoes for the upcoming winter...?

...

...

Nothing.

For the first time in his life, utter silence.

His breathing started to become shallow as he inwardly panicked. Never had he felt so... so alone. His eyes becoming unfocused, he clutched his head, rocking back and forth. This can't be real, he can't be alone, he's a nation! Colony or not, he still represents the Northern half of North America.

He... can't be alone...

Sensing his brother's panic, Alfred placed a strong hand on his brother's shoulder and brought him into a crushing embrace to keep him stable, to keep his mind in one piece.

At this, Matthew started to tremble, choking up a little. Alfred responded with the loving gesture of petting his hair, and calmly shushing him, whispering sweet nothings in his ear, like calming a frightened child.

_It's alright, Mattie. Everything will be alright.** It'll all be for the best.** I'm here. You're never alone, Mattie because I'm here.** I'm here...with you.**_

At this, Matthew slowly leaned into the touch and listened to the sweet words falling from his brother's lips. He felt utterly lost, confused and sick. He didn't want any of this... but who cares about his wants? Nobody...except for Alfred. He's not truly alone is he...? Alfred is there. Matthew relaxed against his brother only for a moment, he felt both of their hearts beating as one...

**One.**  
**One nation**

**One person**

**There is only one.**

**There will only be one.**

**You're going to disappear.**

**You're not needed anymore.**

_**You'll cease to cease to exist.**_

He pushed Alfred of off him roughly, eyes going wide. He looked down at his hands, he swears they're translucent. _I can't stay here, I have to get away.. I'll disappear... I'll die! _

In an instant he was on his feet, looking around for an exit. He spotted the heavy wooden door and ran for it. He started to open it and make a dash for it, but Alfred was quicker. He was always quicker.

A hand slammed on the door Matthew was opening, effectively closing it, the other grasped his wrist, slamming him against the closed door, hands on each side of his head, trapping him.

He wanted to yell, scream, call for help from anybody, but nothing came out. Nothing.

He ignored Alfred's small protests, he then opted to thrash, punch and kick until a booming voice made him stop.

"**MATTHEW.**"

Catching his breath, he kept his eyes down, refusing to look at the man who did this to him.

"Mattie, I want you to calm down and look at me." A small growl in his voice. Matthew still defiant, did nothing. This prompted Alfred to grab both his shoulders and shove him against the door. Matthew would have cried out but instead winced at the pain in his back.

"Dammit Mattie, I said LOOK AT ME." After a few silent seconds, Matthew lifted his head up ever so slightly before his chin was grabbed by a hand, shoved upwards to stare at Alfred.

Alfred looked very serious. No more hints of worry or a twitch of a smile. His expression could only be read as serious, cold.

"...That's better. Listen, you are going to look at me and listen well. You are going to stop panicking and relax, Mattie. You're safe. I'm here to look after you, alright? What I did, what I did to you just now... was free your mind, Mattie. You no longer have those conflicting voices in your head! You're free now, can't you see that?"

Matthew listened, he listened and tried to understand what Alfred had just said. His hand came up to his throat. _So ... he removed my voice. Plain and simple huh?_ He was starting to question his brother's sanity or did he lose it long before that?

Alfred sighed, and spoke; a lower but softer voice.

"You can't do anything politically related, Mattie. Thats my job for the time being. Maybe in a few decades when you've come around to it you can have a say in different affairs as well.." He flashed him a small smile. "But in the meantime, please try to relax and look at what I'm offering you? Enjoy the scenery, the free time. You can even make those delicious pancakes whenever you want! You're free to do anything, Mattie. Please..." He tenderly gave Matthew a kiss on his forehead and cup his face. "Just please, give me a chance."

Matthew weighed his options.

For a year he tried to run, for a year he tried to call for help. For a year, he did everything he could to get away.

And now, his voice is gone. He felt so lost without any pull to his land, no strings to keep him balanced.

He was stuck, trapped. With no idea what to do.

He heaves a sigh, looks to his brother and gives a small faint nod.

...

Alfred's eyes light up like Christmas.

...

...

* * *

A/N: Yeah, so the creative juices are just flowing~ Its wonderful. Although my writing is still pretty horrible haha.


	7. Chapter 6

A/N: So yeah, it seems like I get bouts of "HEY LETS WRITE THIS" and I can't stop. This writing business is kinda fun :O I love applying some things I learned in psychology into this...

* * *

**Your Sweet Voice **

**Chapter 6  
**

**...**

**...**

**...**

It had all been a small mistake, really. He read through the book, followed everything to the letter, but still somehow managed to make a small mistake.

Alfred pondered about the past month's events, the one that led up to the disturbing quiet that is in his house now. He sits now in his spacious living room in upstate New York, curled up on his favorite couch, glancing over official documents. He looked up from his papers to look across the room past the fireplace to his brother, also sitting on a comfortable couch... staring out the window. Like he had done for the past month.

Alfred smiled softly at his brother, glad to see that he was comfortable, but he couldn't help but let his smile falter as he realizes he hadn't heard his voice in a month now...

All he wanted was his brother to smile and laugh like they did when they were younger; he just wanted his brother to say "I love you", hug him tightly and kiss his forehead exactly like when they were children. To be like back then. That's all he wanted... really he did.

He shouldn't complain though. Matthew decided to stay with him, no more escape attempts or angry looks directed at him. Although Matthew hasn't been showing **any** emotions since last month. Alfred felt as though small spark had been extinguished in his brother's ...spirit? mind? He was the same, yet he wasn't. No emotions, no sudden outbursts, he was just... there.

...

Almost like a doll.

...

This is not to say that he didn't enjoy his brother's company! Oh no, he loved watching Mattie cook whatever meals he asked for, he would wrap his arms around Mattie's waist protectively (never possessively) and nuzzle the back of his neck. Happily, Alfred noted that since last month, his brother never resisted as he did before. Alfred would hold him sometimes at night, and sometimes.. just sometimes, he would feel light arms wrap around his sides, light hands positioned delicately on his back. Alfred couldn't help but smile and give him a small kiss on the cheek whenever that happened. It didn't happen often, but he was euphoric when it did. He must be doing something right.

Every Saturday, he treats Matthew by bringing him along into town to the nearest market, to meet and chitchat with the local farmers and buy the necessary food for the week's meals. Alfred of course does all the talking. He enjoys talking enthusiastically to the usual farmers while Matthew watches, sipping on a cup of warm apple cider. Every time they would pass by a small booth with small imports from the ..Northern States, mostly animal furs, warm clothing, snowshoes and maple syrup. Matthew would always pause and stare, but only for a moment.

This time however, was a moment long enough for Alfred to catch on. He knew that Matthew missed his old home sometimes, but Alfred rationalizes that _"He's living with me now, so he should still feel at home!"_, he even moved to upstate New York just so that the temperature was what his brother was used to, and also closer Québec so he wouldn't feel too homesick.

_"He'll get used to it_" he thinks.

After staring at the small booth, Alfred squeezed his brother's hand, looking at him warmly.

"You haven't had maple syrup in a long time, have you?" he asked.

Matthew didn't show any sign of acknowledgement, just the same stone-like face.

Fishing into his pockets, Alfred took out some money. "Tell you what, I'll get you some, alright? Just for you!"

After a stifling moment of staring, Matthew wrenched his hand away from his brother's, Alfred could have sworn that he saw a flicker of disgust on little Mattie's face, and watched him fervently walk away to the counter that was selling warm apple cider.

Alfred covered up the small action by rubbing the back of his head, smiling sheepishly at the salesman, apologizing.

"Guess he doesn't like maple syrup anymore, huh?"

...

After giving a small wave to the salesman, he caught up with Matthew, who was sitting on a bench provided by the sellers. Alfred went to the booth that sold the drinks, buying himself a cup of coffee. As he was waiting, he glimpsed over to his brother, drinking his cider with the same emotionless look again.

_What was that little outburst about_ he wonders. He wasn't given much time to muse over it as it seemed like everyone who walked past his brother looked at him... _strangely_. He noticed this a few weeks ago, seeing some people eye him with an odd look in their eye. Alfred couldn't help but feel jealousy and suspicion bubble in his chest. It seemed to be getting worse every time he took his brother out! People would just... stare at him, as if... _possessively_. Like they want him for their own. At that thought, Alfred would hold his brother's hand, keeping a lookout for any strange activity or odd behaviors afterwards.

Snapping out of his little flashback as his coffee was finally served, he walked over to Matthew and sat beside him... very closely. He was eyeing everyone around them, why were they staring at him?

"...Matt." Alfred said, still eyeing some people.

Matthew was keeping himself occupied by looking at some birds building a nest in a nearby tree. He turned his head slightly towards Alfred's direction, signalling that he's listening.

"Matt, has there been any... bizarre people coming up to you, asking you about strange things?" Matthew's eyes met Alfred's, finally shaking his head lightly, looking away once again.

Alfred frowned as he placed a hand on his brother's shoulder. "Are you sure about that, Matt? I mean, don't you notice some people staring at you?"

Matthew turned his head back to Alfred, blinking a few times, expression unreadable. He proceeded to look around at the people who were passing by them. None of them were looking at him, Matthew observed. Everyone seemed happy and going about their business. He finished his cider and turned back to Alfred, shaking his head once more.

Alfred gave Matthew's shoulder a small squeeze. He wanted to hold him close and pet his hair, smelling the cold winter air that surrounds them, but he could not display such affection out in public... especially if its one's brother. _Married couple, yes... but .. weren't they technically married now?_ Alfred thought. But its extremely taboo to do such a thing in public and so he had to restrain himself by giving his brother a pat on the back and a beaming smile.

"Must be my imagination!" he laughed, knowing full well that the people were still looking at him and his brother. But he didn't want Mattie to panic, so he reassured him with a hearty laugh. "Come on, let's head back home. Its really cold out here." Instead of holding his brother's hand, away from the crowd's eye, he simply draped his arm around Matthew's shoulders, guiding him back to the house as they carried their week's worth of food in their wicker baskets.

...

Alfred chanced a glance behind Matthew's back, everyone was staring at him... smiling malevolently. He knew it.

Glaring at them, he held his brother closer.

...

...

...

**_Mine._**

...

...


	8. Chapter 7

A/N: sorry for the long wait, as I said, I'm not really a writer, so whenever inspiration hits, it usually goes to drawing and/or animation. But I lately I have been writing snippets of this story.. we'll see where it can go~

* * *

**Your Sweet Voice**

**Chapter 6**

**...**

**...**

**...**

He found another letter... another cry for help for anyone. Who knows how many Matthew had successfully sent? Alfred was furious, feeling more betrayed than anything. He looked down at his brother's small form on the ground, nursing his cheek to which Alfred had slapped. He knelt down to Matthew's level, placing a hand on his back.

"Look.. I'm... I'm sorry.. but..." he sighed. "I'm not mad, just disappointed...You should be happy here..." He stood up as Matthew looked up at him. Alfred decided to rip the letter to pieces and tossed it in the fire place. He turned to Matthew and gave him that same sheepish smile. "Its for your own good."

Alfred was just curious at first when his brother shut himself into the library; perhaps Mattie was just practicing his calligraphy. His brother would always throw him a 'I want to be left alone' glare, a glare he knew too well. To show courtesy and that he trusts him, he decided to leave him alone to his musings... he would check the study later to tidy up, and found crumpled papers of what he thought: calligraphy. He smiled in relief.

It wasn't until one day he gently knocked on the wooden door to his study that he heard the rustle of many papers. Quirking an eyebrow, Alfred announced himself and entered the room, fresh cup of coffee in hand. What he saw was Matthew hunched over as usual, deep in concentration. What he read was the beginnings of a letter, in broken sentences, like he was practicing.

"...what are you writing?" Alfred asked innocently.

This prompted Matthew to jolt out of his concentration, knocking over the ink bottle.

"Oh here, let me get that.." Alfred handed his brother the cup of coffee and started to clean up as quickly as he could, lest the ink spread.

After a few quick minutes and some stained empty paper and cloths, the stains were practically gone. Alfred got up, sighed happily, turning to his brother.

"See? No big deal." He said to his brother still sitting on the chair, staring in to the cup of coffee.

"That's for you, by the way." He said with a smile. Matthew only gave him a glance before looking back into the cup of coffee, watching the steam rise and disappear.

Alfred gave out a small sigh, deciding to look at the paper that his brother was working on. "Practicing your handwriting or something?" he said with a smile. He took the paper to look more closely at the strange handwriting as Matthew gave a small look of worry.

Alfred had to blink several times before he could actually make out what Matthew had been attempting to write. First off, it was in French. He knew French, but recently had been able to become more fluent at lightning speed. Second, it was several ... poorly worded sentences in French, strange since he expected his brother to be completely fluent in the language... no, not expected, he KNEW his brother was fluent in this language! He had some of Matthew's old letters from before and during the last war, all in perfectly written French.

What he saw on this piece of paper was... broken French. A poor attempt at French. He started the sentence alright, but the verbs were all wrong.. the conjugation was terrible, many words were constantly being misspelled, many scratches and ink blots everywhere. The end of the writing became a shaky, written mess of the word 'why'.

He frowned. Looking from the letter to his brother and back again. Alfred knew the mistakes, saw them as plain as day. He looked up again when he heard the shaky clinking of china: Matthew's hands were shaking badly, head bowed low.

"Matt... is this was you've been practicing? ... Seems like.. your French is getting a little bit... aah... rusty." Alfred said slowly, voice diminishing. He was bewildered. He placed the paper back down and walked over to embrace his shaking brother. Matthew, as always, tensed.

"Don't worry, you'll get better at it..again. ... Besides! You don't need to perfect any French, you only have to deal with English here. Let me deal with the French .."

At this, Matthew seemed to physically shrink at these words, shoulders shaking and silent sobs made the atmosphere thick. Alfred could only rub his brother's back, shushing him lightly like he did every time Matthew had a small breakdown.

"Shh... its alright Mattie... really it is...you don't need to worry about it... come on.. its fine..shh..." He comforted him, starting to run his fingers through Matthew's hair, trailing soft kisses from the curve his ear down to his neck. He would hold him tighter with every loving gesture. Matthew had learned with time and experience to become still when his brother was being 'affectionate', his mind elsewhere. His shaking shoulders ceased and only soft sniffling could be heard. He was heartbroken. The French language came naturally to him... why can't he write anything...? He resolved he would get a letter out of this country, in any language he could muster. Someone was bound to respond...

Which is where Matthew found himself at this moment; soothing a red cheek, a hard slap from Alfred when he found his letters. One especially was meant for Scotland, hoping to secretly make its way to England somehow... He knew several connections in Scotland, it looked like an innocent letter. Matthew wasn't stupid, but then again, neither was Alfred.

Matthew was locked in his room that day.

* * *

Later that week, Alfred sighed. The letter didn't have any official seal, nothing. Another letter from England, another letter for the fire.

* * *

"... mmmmm... Mattiemattiemattiiiiieeeee... .. 'm cold.." Alfred mumbled as he wrapped himself around his brother. It was a chilly winter, the wind wasn't making it any better. Matthew just continued to lay limp as Alfred's cold hands wandered around his already warmed body. He would tolerate his brother's hands tangling in his golden locks, he would even tolerate Alfred spooning him. But he always drew the line when his brother wanted to explore a bit further, testing his boundaries maybe. After feeling hands snaking up under his nightshirt and legs tangling a bit too close, he'd push away. Usually that would make Alfred clue in and would resume his gentle touches. On other nights, he would groan in annoyance like a child "Mattiiiieeeeee... relax will ya..." and press further.

* * *

Within a blink of an eye, November had passed and Christmas was just around the corner. Alfred was as giddy as a child, bringing home Carnations for Matthew whenever he went out. He sat by the warm fire as he watched his brother fish out a vase to put them in, and would touch the soft velvet-like leaves and admire the rich color it presented.

To pass the long winter hours at home, Matthew had taken up piano. Many days and evenings he would practice until he got the song down to perfection. They would always be melancholic melodies though, rarely upbeat. If ever they were, they were played with such delicacy; you would have to strain your ears to listen.

One night, Alfred tried to coax Matthew to play some playful tune. He sat next to him, starting a simple little cord, wanting his brother to join. Matthew of course would have none of it, would remain stock still. After giving up his little attempts, Alfred just asked for Matthew to play him something nice.

A heavier, angrier sounding piece of music came the response, J.S. Bach.

Alfred smiled awkwardly, it was nice, but not what he meant. He asked him again, something upbeat, even start the beginnings of one, but Matthew would turn it into something ugly, something forceful and bitter, all the while never glancing at Alfred's displeased expression once.

A few more minutes and Alfred lost his temper. He stood up abruptly, pushing Matthew's hands off the piano and slammed the cover over the keys.

"Enough music for tonight." He said coldly, glaring at his brother. Matthew returned the glare, but quickly looked away from him to ignore his brother's temper tantrum. At this, Alfred grabbed his chin, forcing Matthew to look at him.

"You've been trying my patience lately, brother. You have been nothing but rude and spoiled little brat... know your place in this house." Alfred said with a red glare in his eyes. After letting go of Matthew's chin, he gave his cheek a soft stroke, Matthew pulling away. The annoyed hand moved to stroke his hair roughly, feeling it.

" ...You should let your hair grow." Alfred said, expressionless. Turning on his heel, coughing slightly, he bid his brother goodnight, leaving him alone in the dark room with the piano.

Matthew could only sit in silence while clutching his chest and shaking.

...

...

...


	9. Chapter 8

A/N: So this has been sitting in my docs for about 3 months, sorry about that. Sorry for the grammatical mistakes and stuff. SORRY SORRY SORRY

* * *

**Your Sweet Voice**

**Chapter 7**

**...**

**...**

**...**

_**"Everything that you were, everything that you are, and everything that you will be... lies right here."** He places hand over Matthew's chest. **"I can feel it beating, it warms me, keeps me company, its a beautiful jewel in my eyes. I love everything about it, I love its tremors, its skips, its jumps, its calmness. It keeps me calm, Mattie. I want nothing more than to keep it safe."** _

_Brandishing his knife, he lowers himself until his lips brushes against his brother's ear, knife nearing his chest. **"I love you, Matthew. I love you with all my heart. And... I know you love me... with all your heart."** _

_At this, he plunges the knife into his chest, cutting through muscle and tissue. Bones cracking, Matthew lets out a bloodcurdling scream, arms and legs thrashing against the restraints. Alfred has a serious face of deep concentration, rippng through Matthew's chest. He reaches in to the mess of splattered blood and muscle to grasp the one thing he was seeking. As his hand wraps around the beating organ, he tugs it, Matthew chokes and gasps, tears falling, pleading, pleading his brother to stop._

_With some cuts and a final tug, Alfred finally retrieves his jewel, looking at in pure wonder and glee. He glances at his brother's mutilated body and smiles a disturbing, terrifying smile, clutching Matthew's heart closer to his chest._

Matthew lurched forward from his bed, gasping out of terror of what he had just dreamt. After a few moments to assure himself he's still alive and fine and not a bleeding pile of a mangled corpse, he lights a candle set on his bedside table. He looks over at his sleeping brother and couldn't help but recoil quickly. Gingerly, he slips of bed and walks towards his window, looking out at the dark landscape. He is able to make out some trees in the distance and even a small fox running across the yard. Matthew places a clammy hand on his forehead, feeling a cold sweat. What the hell was that about? he wonders. His hand wanders to his chest, feeling his still beating heart (in its rightful place).

He was getting scared. Scared of the empty feeling that continues to grow in his heart. Scared of what is to become of him. Everything started to feel stagnate, in a state of constant numbness. Matthew stares out into the world as he tries to empty his mind once again. He found that thinking about his situation led to hope, to escape, to happiness. It led to frustrations, madness, half-formed plans never carried out. He could burn down the house while Alfred slept; he could slit his brother's throat, drown him in the lake, snap his neck... but he knows he can't. No matter how close he was, he couldn't do it. Alfred held a very tight chain around Matthew's neck, encrusted with flowers and jewels to trick the world into thinking he was happy. Now, that chain is starting to rust and Matthew is scared.

A shuffling noise of fabric is heard, and Matthew stiffens.

"mmm.. mat-..." Alfred mumbles. Matthew can make out his brother's dark outline of an arm, groping around blindly. Alfred finally cracks open his eyes and notices the small light by the window, seeing the blond in the dim orange light of the candle.

"wassamatter? Why 're you up this early?"

The fire in Matthew belly suddenly roars to life and he wants nothing more than to strangle him, make him give back what has been taken, hurt his brother the way Alfred hurt him. It won't do any good, but the justice served-

Matthew takes deep breaths, calms himself to his usual coolness. Being numb is his only comfort.

* * *

A knife clangs onto the floor. Matthew stares between the knife and his hand. Wasn't he just holding it a second ago...? He bends over to pick it up, holds it up to the light to inspect it. Nothing seemed to be wrong. He noted how a few days ago he poised a pair of shears to cut his hair; one second it was in his hand, the next, fell on to the floor, stabbing his foot. Alfred had rushed in that day, scolding him and caring for his tiny injury. As he cleaned the blood, he said to Matthew, "I like your hair the way it is, don't cut it!" in which Matthew's only reply was a blank stare. He had been feeling lethargic lately, a lack of motivation to do anything at all, just numb. He concluded that it must be the reason for his spacey moments.

All he remembers now is tying a ribbon in his hair to keep it out of the way.

* * *

Alfred as usual, brought his brother out with him to explore the day's events on a sunny day in the midwinter season. A small festival was taking place, perhaps to boost the morale of the townspeople to endure the long, cold winter months with a bit of entertainment. Alfred smiled and laughed, pointing to the spectators, saying, "Look at that! I'd like to see you try that!" while Matthew quietly observed.

After the small spectacle from the street performers, Alfred wanted to warm up, so he led his brother to a building which was hosting a bazaar, filled with trinkets, clothing and food.

"Don't stray too far," said Alfred as he let Matthew wanders around. Nodding lightly, Matthew made his way towards the exotic-looking fabrics from India. As he smiled, Alfred watched his brother go and looked as some interesting second hand trinkets the man was selling. As he was admiring an almost brand-new looking gun, the man behind the counter gave a small chuckle.

"They are a handful, aren't they?," Alfred looked up with a small confused look. The man nodded towards Matthew's general direction. "Your little lady friend. Although I must ask you, why is she wearing trousers?"

Alfred could only blink. He looked towards were his brother was, and he was struck by how feminine he suddenly looked. A small spark appeared in his eye, an idea from the dark depths of his mind had formed.

"...Sh... She.. um... she works on the farm. You know how useless petticoats are." He said, shrugging. The man nodded, smoking his pipe, he added with a smile, "Are you to be married soon then?" Alfred spluttered, the bearded man could only laugh at his reaction. "I should take that as a no?"

Alfred hesitated, but replied softly, "...w-we're thinking ...about it...".

"You're a strapping young lad, it's the ripe time to do so! Especially if you are on a farm, you must need tough, strapping young boys for the farm work! Don't let that little woman become an old maid, lad." The man's laughter let loose his pipe's smoke, causing Alfred to cough.

"Y-yes... I suppose..."

"Here," the man got off his stool and started looking around his little kiosk. He pulled out a simple but beautiful white dress. "This was worn by my wife; we have been happily married for 30 long years, why don't you have it? For good luck," he smiled, offering the dress to him. Alfred could only blush and look around nervously, in case Matthew was close by.

"But sir! I'm sorry, I-I couldn't! This is your family heirloom!"

"Ah no, lad, my wife sadly passed last winter and we have no children of our own. I was intending to sell it to a happy couple in the hopes that perhaps the good luck of a long married life might be passed on by this dress." He finished with a sincere and warm smile.  
Alfred kept looking back from Matthew to the dress, conflicted.

"... I'll take it."

* * *

Matthew observed several handmade trickets and admired their details. The old vendor lady smiled at him warmly, and he shyly returned it. As he was scanning through the jewellery, he could have sworn he spotted one that almost looked like a silver bear. _A polar bear... _he thought.

However, before he could reach over and touch it to get a closer look, he suddenly felt something or someone playing with his hair. He looked to his left to find Alfred weaving a simple flower into his hair.

"I just thought... we needed a bit a life in this time of cold snow and ice..." Alfred smiled. After a small pause, Matthew brought his hand up to feel the flower in his hair. As Alfred untied the ribbon to let Matthew's hair loose, he jerked his head in the general direction of the old man he was chatting with, "Courtesy of the gentleman over there."

Matthew looked down to see a big bag his brother was carrying, he pointed to it. "Oh this? It's a little something, nothing special!" Alfred brought his hand up to stroke the blond's hair, and leaned in to place a kiss on his brother's cheek. To the old vendor lady and those passing by, it merely looked like a small kiss from a young man wooing his lady friend. To Matthew, it was a horrible public act of dominance... he could feel the temperature plummet around his body and his shaking began.


End file.
